


Church

by cecilantro



Series: 100 Days Of Ficlets [15]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 01:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: Molly can read everyone as though they're a large-print poster begging for his attention.And yet he can't see the way that Caleb adores every breath that he takes.





	Church

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely based on im gay vaguely inspired by Fall Out Boy's "Church"
> 
> Drop me songs on my tumblr (mollymockerytealeaf) and maybe i'll write fics!
> 
> Additionally, if you like my work, you can support me by commenting, kudos-ing, sharing, or [buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/cecilantro)! <3

Mollymauk is intuitive, perceptive, he had to be, he made a living off of reading people’s expressions and emotions. Like a book, learnt blinks and gestures like words, so plain and open.

  
He looks to Jester and cocks his head. She looks downtrodden, limp, the way she looks when she thinks nobody is paying attention to her. She scratches, rubs the back of her arm idly, gently.  
  
“We’ll take a bath in the next town.” Molly promises her, and she looks over her shoulder in shock at his voice, at his arrow nocked and shot, bullseye on the target.  
  
Fjord is, admittedly, more difficult. He has so many lies and layers that even Fjord himself had lost track of. Still, though, Molly can pick up on most of Fjord’s sighs. There’s one in particular that means _‘I want a whiskey, and I want it immediately, in shot form.’_ that usually makes an appearance after a battle. It slips out after they leave the Manticore’s chamber, and Molly tightens his grip on Caleb’s waist to lean over and pat Fjord’s upper arm,   
  
“I’ll buy you something hard when we get back to town. Probably a whiskey. Okay?”  
  
Fjord looks at him, weary and surprised,  
  
“I’d appreciate that, thanks, Molly.”  
  
Nott is simple, like the tales of fairies, uncomplicated single emotions. She wants to drink, she’s scared, she’s awed, it’s like taking candy from a baby to read her. She seems sad, he drops a coin or two and she scrabbles to pick it up.  
(As of their most recent escapade to the bath house in the middle of the night, in Zadash, Nott has started returning Molly’s coins to him. He’ll have to find a new way to cheer her.)  
  
Beau is defensive and annoying and aggressive but so, so easy to pick apart, like poor stitching, loose knots. He hasn’t decided quite yet if he hates her or thinks she’s incredible, but he is fairly certain he’d disembowel anything and anyone that hurt her.  
Or Nott. Or Jester. Or Fjord.

Or Caleb.

Molly thinks that Caleb is, reasonably, easy to read. No harder than any other paranoid sucker that came along to the carnival, at least. Molly slides him a drink before he can even fully form the thought that he wants one, places himself physically between Caleb and Jester or Beau when one of the girls decides to chip at Caleb’s fault lines.

“I prefer you this way.” He tells Caleb when Jester complains about the mud he’s smeared over his newly-washed face, “It’s my- it’s _our_ Caleb.” He smiles, and can’t read the flicker across Caleb’s eyes, it disappears before he can get a good look. He can read the minute drop of Caleb’s shoulders, though, the tiny signs of relaxation. He needed the reassurance, and it seems only Fjord and Molly are good at the emotional side of things.

So, the point of all of this?

Mollymauk is intuitive, perceptive, prides himself on being able to open up and unpick people from the slightest movement, blink, flinch, word, tone.

 

And yet he cannot see the way that Caleb stares at him, reverent, as though Molly is something holy and ethereal, a ghost or a god decorated in the tributes of their servants.

 

Their most recent caper at the bath house has only solidified this opinion.

When Caleb’s social anxiety gets the best of him and he sinks underwater, he opens his eyes to watch Molly though the pain as he settles himself between Yasha and the blurry, rippling shape of Caleb. He swears he sees Molly glance towards him and his heart stops, tries to evacuate his body by coming up through his throat. Molly slips a hand inconspicuously down into the water, Caleb sees the blurred outline of fingers reaching toward him, they touch the top of his head. Then suddenly the water is very, very hot, and Caleb come up pink and gasping.

Molly idly pushes Caleb’s hair from his eyes without looking away from Jester, it’s a distraction trick he’s learnt, to talk to cover what you’re doing with your hands. Caleb appreciates it.

“I was goin’ to warn ya.” Fjord fucks _everything_ up by talking to Caleb, and Molly’s hand pulls back to his side so quick Caleb hears it snap through the air. He huffs a sigh, half for his boiled face, half for the loss of contact. Then Molly is talking again, and everyone’s attention is on him. Caleb studies the individual scales of the snake winding down his arm, every petal of the flower, the tattoo that reaches to his hairline. His chest aches.

Molly remains oblivious to Caleb’s caught breath and lost, hazy eyes, every time.

They climb out of the water after Fjord, giving him a chance to shuffle off awkwardly, embarrassed at the friendly nudity.

“Ah.” Molly holds a hand up to halt Caleb, “Let’s give Fjord a chance to dress. I want to check your wounds, anyways.”

“You couldn’t have done this _in_ the warm bath?”

“No.” Molly replies, cheerfully, and pressed a hand to the shoulder that doesn’t have an arrow hole in it until Caleb’s back presses into the cold brick wall and he muffles a shocked yelp.

This doesn’t seem right to Caleb, and it takes him seconds to figure out why. It’s _Molly_ kneeling in front of him, studying each wound, touching each of them lightly, in turn, humming about how well they’re healing, or how poorly, though it’s mostly the former now that Caleb’s clothes are clean. The issue isn’t that he’s naked as the day he was born, or even that Molly is, it’s that Molly is knelt before him and that is where Caleb should be.

He deserves none of this care, idolatry, appreciation. He is flawed and broken and dirty, and Molly is- he stands- perfect. Pristine, gorgeous, concerned, he leans in.

“Caleb, what’s wrong?” because he can’t figure out what about this would concern him so. He recalls Caleb’s desire for anonymity, for cover, privacy, and steps back immediately. “Is it the nudity? I forget, it’s not a common- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I have no issues with, um,” He begins to gesture at himself, and stops halfway through to gesture to Molly instead, “You’re fine.”

“Pain?” Molly asks, and Caleb shakes his head, Molly tries again, “Men?”

Caleb gives a quick bark of a laugh at that, actually.

“Boiled down, yes, that could be accurate.” And Molly hums as he steps in to link an arm through Caleb’s and lead him back to the dressing room.

“I’m sure we can solve that, later.”

Caleb looks at him like he is the moon in full blossom.

 

 

“I think,” Caleb says, carefully, “You may have misinterpreted me, Mollymauk.”

Molly, Caleb, and Fjord stand at the edge of the group, letting Yasha’s natural lack of charm distract the girls from listening in on their conversation. Molly folds his arms and leans back, frowning a little. He’s very rarely wrong.

“You said your issue was-”

“Yes, men, boiled down. I didn’t mean-”

“Are you tellin’ me that Caleb told you his issue was _men_ and you assumed it was _me_ ?” Fjord asks, incredulous, his eyebrows raised. Molly looks to him, confused, it doesn’t even begin to dawn on him.

“I- Well, what else could it be? There was such a drastic change, after we got into the bath, and the issue was… men?”

“Molly, with all due love an’ respect, you know I think you’re great, but you are dumb as fuck.” Fjord speaks frankly, and Molly starts, offended. Caleb begins to shrink into his coat.

“Pardon?” Molly asks, and there’s a hint of danger and threat to his voice. Fjord rolls his eyes, Caleb takes a step back,

“I should leave you both... to this.” He tries, and Fjord grabs his collar at the same time Molly’s hand shoots to his wrist.

“Molly,” Fjord glares at him, low, “You see everythin’, are you _seriously_ tellin’ me you don’t see the way Caleb looks at you? He practically worships you. You _can’t_ be that blind.”

  
Molly is dumbstruck.  
  
  
“Yes, thank you, Fjord, for outing me like that. So to disappear I just walk straight ahead, take a right, and don’t stop walking until someone runs me through?”

Molly turns to him, and Caleb can’t stop the inadvertent swallow as a response to the glint of sunlight on Molly’s red eyes.

“Oh, my Gods.” Molly whispers, it’s like someone has opened his eyes, he looks at Caleb and sees a whole new chapter of his book. He catalogues everything, the way Caleb’s shoulders are raised defensively, and not in the way he usually shrinks when someone touches him without warning. The fear of rejection written into the set line of his jaw, determination, eyes widened, his fingers are shaking a little.

Caleb has a good grip on Molly, too. The shock that loosens his skull so everything seems a little disjointed. The nervous tell that Caleb knows he has, when he holds his left hand to his chest and rubs his thumb against the pads of his fingers in a strange, comforting way.

Molly sees Caleb’s gaze adjust, flicker to the hand he holds to his chest, and watches the wizards pupils blow with adoration.

Fjord is satisfied with his work and bows out.  
There’s a stunned silence, a trap, where they stare at one another and can’t quite figure out how to continue.  
  
Caleb takes a step back.  
Molly snaps out of it.

“So _I_ was your problem all along?” He asks, and Caleb steps back again. Molly crosses to him before he can run and leans in to talk quietly into his ear, “It’ll draw attention. You have a problem, let’s solve it.”

Caleb lets out a heavy sigh. Molly smiles, he knows that sound. He understands the notes of resignation, and when he steps away again, he offers Caleb his hand.  
Caleb moves to take it, and halts, fingers hovering an inch from Molly’s.

“How well can you read me?” He asks, and Molly scrutinises him. Puts _everything_ within him to the test to read Caleb.

The adoration that remains in his eyes, the nervous shake of his fingers, the sheer _terror_ that now cracks along the corner of his jaw. The distance, self-restraint, desire, and he understands.

Molly takes Caleb’s hand and holds, tight.

“You are enough.” He says, and he knows he’s hit the mark by the sudden tears that spring to Caleb’s eyes. Over Caleb’s shoulder, he sees the shape of Fjord, distracting the girls for an instant and Molly takes that chance, pulls, and Caleb tumbles into his embrace. He buries a hand in the hair at the base of Caleb’s skull, strokes his thumb against Caleb’s neck. He feels arms wrap around his waist, desperate and crushing, and Caleb buries his face in Molly’s neck and shoulder, he feels the damp of tears, and suddenly a burst of light. Again, Molly understands now what he didn’t before.  
  
The roar in his ears when Caleb looks scared, the lighting of indescribable emotion when he sees Caleb hit, the ache in his chest when Caleb smiles.  
  
“Oh.” Says Mollymauk, his breath ghosting Caleb’s ear. “I’m in love with you.”  
  
“Boomsticks, Mollymauk.” Caleb’s voice is muffled by tears and skin, “You can’t just say that.”  
  
“I didn’t know.” Molly draws away enough let Caleb breathe, but Caleb’s grip on Molly’s waist doesn’t loosen- if anything, it tightens. “Do you… me?”  
  
It’s so far from his usual eloquence and smooth tongue, and Caleb marks it down as another sign of nerves. Caleb tries two or three responses in his mind, a split second, and decides that he will never have the words he needs to properly express himself.  
  
  
So instead, he kisses him.  
  
  
It’s a finality. Molly closes his eyes and goes blind in more ways that one, losing his sight means losing the reigns, he can no longer read Caleb’s movements and instead relies on touch. On heat, and Caleb is hot, almost scalding where his lips press to Molly’s.

They pull apart.

“I just kissed a God.” Caleb says. Molly laughs briefly, a bark,

“That’s a statement.” He says, and strokes Caleb’s face gently, lovingly. Caleb stands on his tiptoes to kiss him again, quick, hot,

“I love you.” he says as he sinks back down, and Molly smiles at him, twin aches in their chests.

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh so many of my fics are based on things ive thought and/or done re The Boy I Love Whomst I Associate With Molly and its getting a little much


End file.
